A Good One Too
by Sherry Holmess
Summary: There was no video that saved Sherlock from getting out of his banishment. Post HLV AU. Rated for dark themes.


Have fun with this...

* * *

His side stung, and pain seemed to pulse throughout his entire being. All of this was from a measly little stab wound. How dull.

Sherlock resisted the urge to sigh as he closed his eyes. The only thing that he could think about now was that he was free. He was on the brink of death and that meant that he wouldn't need to deal with incompetent police officers, his brother's overly controlling personality, or the feelings that threatened to consume him for the past four and a half years.

Feelings for John.

Just the name of his blogger made his heart clench. It took two years of dismantling Moriarty's web to finally realize the name of the emotion he kept feeling. He knew what it was, and he was terrified by the concept of it. He wasn't quite sure if he was happy that his friend didn't feel the same or not. Things would definitely be complicated if his feelings were returned, and he wouldn't ever wish that upon his friend. John would be happier with his current life.

The sound of footsteps drawing closer to him forced the detective to force his eyes open once more. He was surprised to notice that he wasn't feeling any pain anymore. It's like he never even got wounded in the first place.

'You're in shock.'

Sherlock's head snapped up at the sound of his friend's voice. Stupid Lestrade. Why couldn't he let him get his work done without interruption?

"Am not." He said angrily, bringing himself up to his feet to prove it. The DI didn't look amused.

'You should just stay here. It'll be easier than the alternative.'

The detective was confused. "Alternative?"

The DI opened his mouth to speak but apparently thought against it and shook his head. 'Helping friends, not my division.' he muttered before stomping off into the forest.

_Wait, forest? When did we get here...?_

Sherlock ignored that thought and chased after Lestrade, his friend. "Wait!" He called out. "Graham!"

'You won't find him.'

Sherlock spun around and raised a brow at his elder brother. "Well not if you keep distracting me. Can't you see that I'm on a case?"

Mycroft sighed, looking tired. His eyes held a dead look to them, as if he had nothing to live for anymore. Now that he thought about it, Lestrade had that same look. Maybe the King of England died?

'You need rest, brother mine.' The elder Holmes said, pointing to something behind his brother. Sherlock turned around to see what Mycroft was pointing at and noticed that they were now standing in their summer cottage from their childhood. Mycroft was gesturing towards Sherlock's old room, seeming distressed.

_But...the forest..._

Mycroft put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, making him blink in total surprise. That was the most brotherly affection that Mycroft had ever shown him. 'Please. Go rest, or you must face the alternative.'

That sounded eerily familiar, but the detective couldn't put his finger on where he heard that before. He glanced over at his old room. The door was shut, but the sight of that alone made an explainable pang of fear in the consulting detective. He wasn't ready to go there yet. It was ridiculous to think that he wasn't ready to go to his own room but for some reason, the thought of going in there so soon was distressing.

"I'd rather face the alternative, brother dear."

Mycroft's shoulders sagged. 'Very well.' He said, before suddenly pushing Sherlock away from him. Sherlock's arms flailed wildly as he fell backwards. Instead of hitting carpet, he heard a load SLASH! and then the feeling of chlorine stung his eyes.

He struggled to bring himself to the surface, but the expanse of water didn't seem to ever end. He was just about ready to give up when a pair of hands roughly grabbed his shoulders and yanked him out of the water.

'You bloody idiot.'

Sherlock coughed all of the water out of his lungs before looking up at his blogger. He had a familiar dead look in his eyes, and tears were spilling down his face and dropping onto the floor below them. Somewhere in the background, Staying Alive played but it's tune was much slower and it sounded more...demonic. The sound of the twisted song made Sherlock feel queasy.

'Just...stop. Stop this.'

Sherlock watched his friend in confusion. That's what he had said at the detective's grave all those years ago. The subject was still touchy for the doctor, and Sherlock didn't understand why he would mention it at all. The John Watson that stood before him wasn't the same person that he had seen a few months ago. This John seemed darker. He seemed to have an almost manic gleam in his otherwise blank eyes.

'Most human...human being...' the doctor continued, his voice taking on a monotone sound. The stoic expression and flat voice would've worried Sherlock if it weren't for the tears that never left his friend's face. It still wasn't right, though.

'Why couldn't you just say it!' John suddenly snapped, glaring daggers at the detective. 'I would've done anything to make you happy, Sherlock!'

Sherlock flinched and backed away from his friend. He didn't go too far, however. A few steps backwards had him bumping into someone from behind. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Moriarty. 'Tut tut. Running from your problems, my dear? No...You chose to face the alternative.'

Sherlock snarled as multiple red dots appeared on his friend's still form. "Fine." He spat, moving back towards John.

'Watch the attitude...' Moriarty whispered, looking amused. 'Say it.'

"Say what?"

John grabbed a fistfull of Sherlock's shirt and pulled him closer to him. The furious look in John's eyes had the detective's mind reeling. 'You know what!'

"I..." Sherlock paused. He had to think about what he said or he could've accidentally made John resort to violence again. He really didn't need another bloody nose, thank you. As if going against Sherlock's will, a drop of blood dripped onto Sherlock's arm. The detective stared at it before realizing the source of the drop of the crimson substance was his nose.

_Did John punch me again...?_

Sherlock looked up at his blogger for answers but the doctor was too distracted by the drop of blood on his friend's sleeve. 'Stay still.' He whispered and moved his hand a little before pulling it back, now covered in blood. Sherlock knew all of that blood couldn't come from just his nose alone, but where else could it be from?

'Your side, dear.' Moriarty said from behind, as if he could read his thoughts. John nodded in agreement and have his friend a sad look. Feeling an awful sense of dread, Sherlock pushed himself away from John and glanced downwards. There was a nasty gash on his side. It obviously punctured his lung.

_How am I still standing...?_

John grabbed Sherlock's hand. 'Please, say it.'

Sherlock groaned in a mixture of annoyance and pain. "Say what? I don't understand!"

'If you don't say it, you'll never come to terms with it.' Moriarty whispered in his ear. He was getting such a headache, he wished that this would all just stop.

"I...I can't..." The detective mumbled after realizing what they wanted to hear. He supposed that he knew the whole time, but his mind was being too ridiculously slow at the moment to process everything. He didn't understand why it needed to be said, though. It wasn't very important at this time.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand reassuringly. 'It's okay, Sher. I know you can do it.'

The back of Sherlock's eyes stung, and his heart raced from pure dread. "But why!? You already know, so why should I have to say it!?"

John shook his head. 'Make peace with yourself, Sher. You need to get it out...'

"I..."

Sherlock swallowed hard. It was all or nothing now. If they wanted him to say it so badly, he would say it.

"I love you, John."

John stared at Sherlock before nodding. Then, he glanced behind the detective with an angry look on his face. 'This wasn't the deal...'

Sherlock turned around and watched as Jim smirked at the both of them. 'Sorry, I'm just so changeable.'

The detective felt confused once more. John let out a strangled sob before speaking once more. 'Look at yourself.'

Not knowing if that was directed towards him or not, Sherlock slowly looked down. Red dots danced all over his arms, legs, and torso. He stared at them for a few seconds before meeting his friend's gaze again. The heartbroken expression on the doctor's face was too much for the consulting detective, but he forced a smile on his face anyways, hoping it looked somewhat reassuring.

He heard a shot fire somewhere behind him and he went flying forwards, too far forward for it to seem realistic at all. The only sign that it was real was the pain that exploded throughout the detective's body, making his vision black out.

SLASH!

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. Instead of water, the pool was filled with blood. Instead of drowning, he was choking on the coppery tasting liquid that should actually be in his veins. He should've felt scared, but he didn't. Instead, he felt a sort of calmness wash over him and take all of his worries away. Soon, the blood seemed to disappear and was replaced by a bright white light.

* * *

About a year later, a small man made his way through the graveyard, before stopping at one grave specifically. He carelessly threw a bundle of flowers before the tombstone and sat behind them. He had waited the six months for his friend to return, but when he brought the matter up with Mycroft he was very surprised to find out that his friend was never going to come back. Ever. He had lost Sherlock yet again, and he couldn't live through it again.

He divorced Mary about a month after Sherlock left, and after discovering that the child that Mary had carried wasn't his at all. His wife has been cheating on him since he had first started dating her. Now _ that _ stung. It didn't matter much, though. He wasn't even planning to stick around long enough for anything else to effect his life. He would do the cowardly thing and go to be with Sherlock again. It hurt knowing that after the entire time that he knew him, he never told the detective how he felt.

'Make peace with yourself...You need to get it out...'

John gently touched the base of the tombstone and smiled. It wasn't a smile full of happiness, but a smile that held a hidden promise underneath it. A smile that showed his pain yet did a good job of hiding it at the same time.

"I love you, Sherlock." He whispered and reached into his trousers to pull out his gun.

On that day, the people living nearby swore they could see two silhouettes dancing with each other in the graveyard, happiness and love emanating from them in a way that cannot be described with words alone.

* * *

**R.I.P Sherlock Holmes**

**A great man, and a good one too.**

**Here lies John Watson...**

**"I'd be lost without my blogger."**

_**Fin.**_

* * *

Sooo...what did you think? I actually didn't plan on writing this at all. The idea came to me and I couldn't get rid of it for the life of me...Anyways, reviews are always welcome!


End file.
